


Chained

by whimsicalfern



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chair Bondage, Choking, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hair-pulling, Overstimulation, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21602167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalfern/pseuds/whimsicalfern
Summary: You've tortured the King of Hell in the past, enjoyed his vulnerability in your hands when we was cuffed to that chair in the bunker. What happens when he turns the tables on you? What kind of vengeful torture is he hoping to inflict on you?
Relationships: Crowley (Supernatural)/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	1. Part 1

**[THEN]**

You withdrew your blade from Crowley’s shoulder, not once breaking your concentration on him. Though he had yelled out (more out of anger than pain) after each stab, each slice you gave him, he let out a tired, raspy chuckle every single time. He still wasn’t letting up, and you were starting to feel irritated by your own underestimation of him.

“Never pinned you as feisty before, (y/n),” he muttered. “I’m impressed.”

To insult him further, you wiped the bloodstained blade against the lapel of his dark blazer. The look he gave you was lethal, but you weren’t too worried. Not when Crowley was chained to that chair, and you smartly stepped back, out of his reach.

Because Dean and Sam had given up trying to wheedle some information on Abaddon out of Crowley, they had decided to place the responsibility in your reluctant but capable hands. Ordinarily, you weren’t one for the whole “stab first, ask questions later” method, but you sighed and took on the chore because they didn’t seem to offer you a choice on the matter.

Now, here you were, torturing the King of Hell, and it was just beginning to sink in that he actually enjoyed having pain inflicted on him. _Masochistic bastard_ , you thought. This made the entire process all the more futile, so you dropped the knife and decided to trying talking it out of him again.

“I’m gonna ask one more time,” you said, your arms crossed over your chest. “Is there anything you need to tell me about killing a Knight of Hell?”

Crowley simply grinned and flexed his bleeding fingers, smugly showing you that he could use a couple more slices from the blade you just discarded. “Riddle me this, pet,” he began. “Even if I do know how to dispose of a Knight, what makes you think I’ll tell you?” He shrugged. “I’ve said nothing to Moose and Squirrel. What makes you so special?”

You were hardly in a good position to answer any of Crowley’s questions. For one, asking him questions was supposed to be your job in the first place. Second, you couldn’t think of a good answer yourself; you were just as uncertain as the demon was regarding Sam and Dean’s reasons for you doing their dirty work. Did they know something you didn’t?

You decided to play it cool and honest. “Beats me. I’m their last resort, so I honestly don’t know.”

“I do,” he said.

Your calm facade almost faltered for a moment. You weren’t expecting that kind of reply.

“Oh?” you said, struggling to keep your voice level.

There it was again, that devilish grin. It didn’t come fast like Crowley’s usual smirks. It was slow and knowing, like a serpent in the grass.

He beckoned you with a couple of fingers, and you took a couple of careful steps in his direction. When you were close enough to see the blood dripping from his cracked lips, the deep cuts on his neck, you stood still and waited.

“Out with it, Crowley,” you said. “What makes me different from them?”

His eyebrows were raised, as if the answer should have been obvious to you.

“The fact that you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

Just like that, he seemed to hit the nail on the head. It wasn’t that you enjoyed seeing Crowley hurt; you were a hunter but an embarrassingly soft one at that, and you could barely stand inflicting long bouts of torture on anyone, mortal or monster. No. You knew exactly what Crowley meant.

“Admit it, (y/n),” he teased, his gruff voice an invitation. “What they call torture, you call quality time with yours truly.”

“Far from it,” you lied poorly.

“Really?” Crowley sounded a little too confident for your liking. “You think I don’t know how many times you’ve imagined swapping places with me?”

Startled by his accurate assumption, you felt the blood drain from your face before coming back up again with a vengeance, coloring your cheeks red.

“How did…”

“I didn’t.” He let out a soft laugh. “You just confirmed it.”

_Fuck._

Crowley kept his eyes on you, observing your every move, and you fought hard not to betray any semblance of emotional vulnerability to him. If he had control of that, you were well and truly screwed.

“I’ve spent nights on end,” he began, “picturing what I could do to you if that were the case. Haven’t you?” His next statement sounded playful and devious at the same time. “Should I repay you with the same kindness? Or is torture far too overrated at this point?” His gaze traveled downwards, from your face to your body, lingering below your midriff. “Then again…” he went on, “I do have other methods in mind.”

You were tempted to take a step back, but what was the use? You were already drawn to his suggestions, more than you would ever care to admit. And Crowley was right about what you wanted. Right now, when you didn’t have a chance to overthink it in his presence, you were almost surprised at how simple your secret demand was.

You _wanted_ him. You wanted him to push you over the edge. You wanted him to make you moan and scream until your throat was parched. And to top it all off, you wanted him to do all that while you were chained to the very chair he currently sat on. That want was absolutely maddening.

Since you thought it useless to take it all back and deny your own feelings on the matter, you decided to switch up the dynamic and proposition him.

“Tell you what,” you said. “I’ll give you all the permission to do that the moment you get out of this room.” Even though you knew that wouldn’t happen by a long shot, you sounded far too confident to consider the consequences of your stupidly bold idea, but as expected, Crowley looked pleased enough to entertain it.

“Agreed,” he said. “Although I should suggest you consider the conditions of this proposal more thoroughly, kitten.”

You snorted, a mask of confidence on your face. “Why?”

“Because by the time I’m through with you, you’ll be begging for far more than you’d originally bargained for.”

The chill that shot up your spine had nothing to do with the cold dampness of the room.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you countered, albeit with a shaky voice.

Crowley shrugged. “Of course. So shall we seal this deal?”

As tempting as the offer was, you took a step back. “I’m not inadvertently selling my soul to you by doing this, am I?”

“Nonsense,” Crowley teased. “I’m just fond of sticking to the mechanics.”

“Oh.” You remained still. “Either way, I’m not kissing you.”

Crowley raised a quizzical brow. “Delayed gratification?”

“More like, I’d rather kiss you when you’re not bleeding and wearing the same suit you’ve had on for weeks.”

“Fair point.” He cocked his head in amusement. “I’m looking forward to our next meeting, then, (y/n).”

“It won’t be soon, Crowley.”

He smiled that serpent smile again. “Don’t be too sure.”

Turning on your heel, you exited the dungeon without looking back.

Apart from the fact that you hadn’t gotten any hint of information on Abaddon from Crowley, topped with the countless emotions creating a dizzying whirlwind in your head, only one question stood out in the forefront of your mind.

_What did I just get myself into?_


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've tortured the King of Hell in the past, enjoyed his vulnerability in your hands when we was cuffed to that chair in the bunker. What happens when he turns the tables on you? What kind of vengeful torture is he hoping to inflict on you?

**[NOW]**

When you opened your eyes, your vision was met with nothing. Just pure, unsettling blackness. You felt clothed by this stark darkness, like it was almost tangible to the touch. And then, slowly, you began to recall everything.

The hunt with Sam and Dean in Montana. Being separated from them in the abandoned warehouse. The painful blow on your head from the rugaru that had apparently knocked you unconscious.

You weren’t exactly certain if you were in the rugaru’s captivity. For one, he would have eaten you by now. And although your dim, enclosed surroundings told you nothing about the time of day, the soreness of your body made you guess that it was already after dark, hours after the hunt. Figuring the job was already past done, you suspected the Winchesters would have been looking for you by now.

_Where am I?_

You tried to move, but you soon found that you were tightly chained to a wooden chair. The clinking of metal chain links echoed softly in the room, and the panic that had begun to build up in your gut steadily rose as you realized a couple more things. The manner in which you were chained was a little… _compromising_ ; while your wrists were tightly bound behind the back of the chair, your ankles were manacled to each of the chair’s legs, forcing your own legs apart.

It did very little to console you that, on top of it all, you were completely naked.

Before you could even use a second to gather your bearings, you heard someone snap their fingers, followed by a blazing ring of light that surprised you as well as illuminated the dark space.

A prayer room. You were in a small windowless prayer room that was now lit by several candles.

And whoever your captor was, they were right behind you.

Stifling the urge to turn your head, you waited, listened to the sure footsteps that circled you in your useless stance.

When he was finally in your field of vision, your racing emotions dropped to relief before escalating to confusion and frustration.

“Crowley?”

The demon stood tall and proud in his pressed suit, no longer stained and scarred by the marks of torture. His smug grin was apparent, even in the dim light of the room.

“Hello, darling.”

You felt a little more bold now that you knew it wasn’t a complete stranger who had you tied up in a dark room but Crowley. Just Crowley. Annoyed, you tried to struggle against the cold, tight bindings around your joints. Your efforts to move cut through the silence with the sharp ringing of chain links, so sharp that it hurt your ears.

“What the hell is this?” you demanded.

Crowley seemed a little embarrassed by your question as he looked around the room. “Not too cramped, is it? I would have opted to keep you in my place back in Hell, but given the current situation…”

“That’s not what I meant!” You made an effort to lean forward, but the chain around your neck kept you from doing so. Why Crowley had taken such pains to have you bound tightly to this chair was something you had no patience to dwell on at the moment. “Of all the times to kidnap me, in the middle of a hunt? _Really?_ ”

He had the nerve to chuckle. “You know me, (y/n). Can’t resist a little creativity in my schemes.”

Groaning, you leaned your head back, only to hiss quietly in pain and jerk forward. The blow on your head from the rugaru attack left your scalp swollen and throbbing. Crowley, noticing this, approached you with a bit of determination. In mere moments, he was by your side, and you couldn’t tell if you felt bothered or flustered by the proximity between the both of you.

“You stay away from me—”

His hand was on your sore scalp before you could protest, fingers woven carefully into your hair. What felt like a soothing, burning sensation was followed by a dull chill that left you less disoriented and more alert. After a second, the swollen tissue was healed. You never thought demons were capable of healing as well as inflicting pain.

Crowley shot you a distinct look between concern and detachment, as if to say “You’re welcome” with his eyes alone. But even after healing you, he didn’t back away. His hand was smoothing back your sweat-slick hair, inviting you to relax in spite of your restraints.

And eventually, you did. Your anger at his cheap but convenient move of pulling you out of danger was slowly ebbing away, making way for that sense of alien relief you felt in his presence. He was far from a saint, but he was still someone you knew, someone you felt unashamedly safe with. Still, your confusion at this whole situation lingered.

“What do you want?”

The grin he gave you was cryptic, but Crowley was merciful enough not to keep you in the dark for too long. Figuratively speaking.

“Don’t you remember, pet? I always keep my bargains.”

You paused. “What…”

Oh. _Oh_.

It all came back to you now. Torturing him in that dungeon. The proposition you gave him. His eager acceptance.

You never thought the tables would be turned on you so quickly. You never imagined he would actually be serious about seeing this whole thing through.

And now that the dynamic shifted in Crowley’s favor, he wanted to make sure he fulfilled his end of the deal very… _thoroughly_.

“So…” you began, “you pulled me out of a rugaru hunt just so you could rub it in my face that you’re not trapped in the bunker anymore?”

Crowley’s jaw was set, as if he were testing the taste of your raw statement. “Doesn’t sound very poetic if you put it that way.” He made a show of slowly walking around the chair until he was behind you, and you were well-aware of his fingers brushing against your bare collarbone.

Beneath his surprisingly gentle touch, you shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

“If you think I’m solely after the technical aspect of this deal,” he defended, “you don’t know me very well.”

You froze in your seat. That might as well have sounded like a confession from the King of Hell himself.

“You’re not?” you began hesitantly.

He chuckled. “Did you think I was?”

“I…” It was getting harder and harder to concentrate on your own words when Crowley’s fingers drifted upward from your collarbone, stroking the sensitive column of your neck. He leaned forward until his lips were right at your ear.

“Then you’re under the false impression that I won’t enjoy this as much as you will.”

You would have been stunned by Crowley’s profound _gentleness_ in the way he held your chin and tilted your head to one side, in the way he planted slow, trailing kisses down your neck, if you didn’t already feel so agitated by his every gesture. Although you were bound in place, you had difficulty keeping still on that chair. Even the fact that you couldn’t close your legs to hide your arousal made this ordeal all the more unbearable for you.

His lips ghosted over your nape, and as he let out a satisfied sigh, you whined and flexed your aching fingers, longing to touch him back in any way.

Crowley didn’t seem eager to offer you that chance.

Behind you, the demon straightened up and gave the chain around the base of your neck a sharp tug, making you gasp. He must have secured you more firmly after that because, with your neck in such a constricted grip, you couldn’t turn your head and see his face as he walked around you again, as he stopped right in front of you and relished your helpless position. He just _stood_ there. Looking without touching. And you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please,” you practically gasped.

“Hm?”

“Just do something. _Anything._ ”

Crowley let out a soft laugh at your pathetic plea. The irritation you felt rose hand-in-hand with your arousal. You were giving him permission to do anything to you. Hell, you’d given him that permission _ages_ ago. Why then was he so intent on taking his sweet time with you?

“Tell me what you want me to do, darling,” he purred. “In explicit detail.”

You licked your lips and desperately wondered where to begin.

Unsure of yourself, you began with, “I want…”

Crowley snapped his fingers, abruptly cutting you off as you felt something immaterial and unseen brush you between your legs. You yelped at the contact, the surprised sound that had escaped your lips morphing into a soft, keening sound as that invisible _something_ stroked your exposed slit over and over…before it was suddenly gone.

“Shit,” you groaned, trying to catch your breath.

“You didn’t let me finish.” Crowley took one step, just one, towards you. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll make sure to do the _exact_ opposite. Is that what you want?”

You shook your head urgently, the action small but noticeable.

“Good,” he said, sounding incredibly pleased with himself. Your obedience was like his drug. “Let’s not forget who’s in control here.”

Standing in place, Crowley crossed his arms and pondered for a moment, his eyes wandering as his index finger tapped his lips. You waited, wondering what exactly he had planned for you.

“Now,” he said, “how does this whole interrogation business go again?” He didn’t sound too serious, which told you that he knew _exactly_ what he was talking about and that he was merely taunting you. Being the King of Hell, after all, obviously meant he had his way of getting whatever he wanted. “I ask the questions, you answer them?”

Your hunter instincts kicked in, and you struggled against the chains again. “I’m not telling you anything about Sam and Dean.”

“I’m not talking about the Winchesters, (y/n),” he answered promptly. “I’m talking about you.”

Your body went stiff once more.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

With a sneer, Crowley approached you again, leaning over you with both hands resting on the arms of your chair. Holding your breath, you shrank back at the sudden closeness, feeling so small before the demon.

“You’re the expert,” he said. “So you know what’ll happen if I don’t get the answers I want.”

In spite of your nerves, you fought to keep eye contact with him. “And if I lie?”

“I’ll know if you’re lying.” Crowley frowned, his expression gravely serious at your suggestion to test his patience. “And I’ll make the punishment worse.”

Gulping, you nodded, far from eager to take any risks. Not when he looked at you like that.

Satisfied with your cooperation, Crowley straightened up and began to pace around you. “First question.”

You nervously kept still on that chair.

“How long have you been fantasizing about yours truly?”

A slight pause.

“What?” you said, incredulous.

A snap of Crowley’s fingers, and you were writhing in place with a choked gasp, feeling that familiar pressure between your legs. He stopped right behind you, no longer making his rounds, and it frustrated you so much, the fact that he was doing this to you, that he was out of your line of sight as he did so.

“I’m asking the questions here. Not you,” he scolded. “Try again.”

He snapped again, and those invisible fingers were just barely starting to penetrate you.

“Okay, okay,” you begged. “Several months. Since the first time we met.”

You heard him hum in satisfaction at your answer. “Thought as much.”

The pressure was gone, and you sagged in relief, trying to catch your breath.

“Next question,” Crowley said. “What did these fantasies consist of?”

Mortified, you paused again.

“And don’t be stingy, love,” he encouraged with a chuckle. “The devil’s in the details, after all.”

At this point, you knew better than to go against Crowley at his own game, but you could hardly believe he would make you answer such a question at such short notice.

“I’m waiting.”

_Shit. Shit!_

“I would…” you uttered without thinking, licking your lips. “I’d think about you.”

“Is that all?” His hands were on your shoulders, thumbs casually rubbing circles into your nape.

“No,” you hurriedly added. “I’d think about you touching me. Holding me down. Bruising me with your fingers.”

“And?”

You tried to relax under his touch, tried to collect yourself, but your skin grew hot at the thought of him capable, right now, of doing everything you’d ever imagined. While a part of you felt nervous telling Crowley what you wanted, the other, more eager part hesitated because you had no idea where to begin. The visuals in your head went on and on, keeping you from giving him a straight answer.

So you closed your eyes and decided to go for the blunt response.

“And I’d picture you going down on me.”

His hands stopped moving.

“How you’d…” you continued nervously. “How you’d force my legs apart. Tease me with your teeth. In my mind, once you’ve got your head between my legs, I’d fight tooth and nail to keep it there until I came. And even then, I wouldn’t want you to stop.”

Crowley took a step back, and you felt a little dismayed that he wasn’t touching you anymore. With his hands gone and with him out of your sight, it was like you were _deprived_ of him completely, even though he merely stood right behind you. In spite of the emptiness, you leaned your head back and went on.

“You have no idea how many times…I’ve imagined what your mouth would feel like. Sucking me. Licking me.” You found yourself panting a little. Was it you, or was it getting hot in that room? “I’ve always thought it would feel amazing, but I also knew none of that would compare to the real thing.”

And you wanted to tell him. You were so close to telling Crowley how badly you needed it. Needed _him_. But at the same time, you wanted to prolong the whole ordeal, not just for this insufferable, handsome demon but also for yourself. And why not?

Naked, vulnerable, and _chained_ , you knew you had nothing more to lose to him.

The whole time, Crowley hadn’t spoken a word, and you started to feel a little nervous.

“Crowley?”

You heard something click, like something had been unlocked, and suddenly, the chain around your neck went loose, as did the manacles around your wrists. You pulled the chains away and rubbed your sore joints, relieved for a moment, until you realized Crowley hadn’t loosened the chains that bound your legs apart.

When you looked up, he stood right in front of you, grinning in such a way that made your skin crawl.

“Last question.”

He only had to take a couple more steps before he knelt between your legs, and you were taken aback by his actions. It unnerved you that the King of Hell, poised like this, would get on his knees for a mediocre girl like you.

He looked up at you, hands already stroking your inner thighs. “How long do you think it would take before you beg me to stop?”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“How…what?”

It didn’t matter that you couldn’t answer him right away because his mouth was already on you before you could say anything more.

If this was Crowley’s method of torturing you, it was incredibly spot-on. He wasted no time in laving his tongue up your wet slit, in searching for your clit and giving it a hard suck. As he gave your clit every ounce of attention he had, his eyes were on you, gauging your every reaction. But you couldn’t keep eye contact for long. With his heated gaze on you, it was almost physically impossible.

With your fingers threading through the demon’s hair, you closed your eyes and pulled him closer, your hips barely able to shift against that active tongue.

His thumb was pressed above your clit, pulling back the pink skin to reveal more of that sensitive nub of flesh. It was when Crowley’s tongue flicked repeatedly at your clit that you realized, with rising panic, how close you were to coming.

“Holy _fuck_ …”

True to your earlier confession, you pressed his head closer between your legs. As your hips jerked, back arched, body gone completely tight, you held your breath until the euphoria was over. And even then, you could barely gather the ability to breathe again. With a satisfied sigh, you loosened your hold on Crowley’s hair, smoothing it down as he made you tremble with lingering, soothing licks against your throbbing slit.

For a moment, you felt relaxed, boneless on that uncomfortable chair.

And then, without warning, his fingers were plunged deep into you.

“ _Oh—_ ”

You drew in a sharp gasp, gripping the arms of your chair so tightly, your knuckles went white in an instant.

Your mind registered two things: how _thick_ Crowley’s fingers were and how quickly his fingertips found that sensitive spot inside you. He fiddled with that spot without hesitation while his thumb was pressed to your clit. He was relentless, and it drove you insane. It was all you could take before you came again, _hard_ , with a shaky moan.

This time, he gave you barely a second to relax before his thumbs parted your swollen lips, bracing you for yet another go. The look you gave him was half-angry and half-desperate.

“No,” you begged.

Crowley merely shot you a devilish grin.

“ _Yes._ ”

From that moment on, you’d lost count of how many times Crowley made you come. At one point, you had almost blacked out when a particular orgasm hit you like a freight train, but Crowley, ever the conniving bastard, was smart (and cruel) enough to keep you conscious the entire time. Not once did he let you rest, not even when you begged him so many times for just a single moment of respite.

A part of you knew that you had asked for this, that you were capable of being tested to your limits until Crowley grew bored of you and stopped. You tried to console yourself with the thought that you had endured far worse than this before.

That part, of course, would always be overshadowed by Crowley’s tongue on your hypersensitive clit.

“No more,” you sobbed. Your voice had gone hoarse after yelling and moaning on that chair for what felt like _hours_. “Please. I can’t…I can’t take any more.”

The chair seemed to be the only thing holding you upright when Crowley finally released you, and even that didn’t feel like enough. You were so exhausted, you had barely noticed Crowley get up and straighten himself out, wiping his jaw with one hand in the process. How he’d still managed to look so clean and well-kept after going down on you for ages was beyond your comprehension.

Then again, after that session, you could hardly conjure up a single coherent thought to your name.

_I was right_ , you tiredly confirmed. _This is_ way _better in real life_.

Amidst the fatigue you were experiencing, you did manage to hear another metallic click echo in the room. The remaining chains fell from your legs, as did the manacles restraining your ankles. You winced in pain as you tried to bring your aching legs together, urging your whole body to ease up after that overwhelming experience.

“Urgh…” you muttered, bending over slightly.

“How do you feel?” Crowley asked, sounding infinitely amused. Not a hint of concern in the smug bastard’s voice.

“Numb,” you replied. “I guess.”

“Come here.”

He offered you his hand, and you took it gratefully. Although he tugged you off that chair with little effort, your body caught up late, and you stumbled against his chest with a soft _oof_. Luckily, his arm caught your waist in time, holding you upright against him despite your incapable legs.

Something must have come over you then, something bizarre, because while you were slowly regaining a bit of energy, you didn’t want to budge in Crowley’s hold. You gripped the lapels of his overcoat tightly, feeling and taking in as much as you possibly could. You felt his chest rise and fall against yours. You reveled in his warmth as it calmed your still-trembling body. You inhaled his scent, which was dotted with sulfur and his cologne. Overall, you felt languid but pleasingly so.

As you tilted your head back, eager to search for his lips with your own, you soon figured the job was already halfway done. Crowley’s mouth eagerly covered yours with little hesitation on his part.

What started out as a chaste kiss grew more and more heated, if not a little aggressive. Your hand found his face, and you kept it there, allowing his beard to tickle your palm while your lips melded with his. But Crowley was already a step ahead of you.

You didn’t resist as his fingers tugged at your hair, pulling your head back to offer himself a better angle. You had no qualms whatsoever about his tongue eagerly searching every crevice of your mouth, his hand finding your ass and giving it a generous squeeze.

In fact, you’d even encouraged Crowley with a small, discreet grin as he, with a kind of dangerous fire in his eyes, maneuvered you towards the prayer room altar. The action was so sudden that a couple of candles were toppled over in the process and immediately put out, dimming the room further. You were laid out rather ungracefully on top of that altar, taking only a moment to gather yourself before Crowley was on top of you again, smothering his lips against yours.

When you pulled at his tie and unconsciously rubbed your soaking pussy against the front of his trousers, he growled against your lips and made a fist in your hair, tugging your head back. You gasped at the stinging pain before your breath was cut short at the sight of Crowley’s expression. He looked a bit disheveled, out of breath, and undoubtedly furious. And for a moment, you took a bit of pride in that. _You_ had done this to him. You and no one else.

Just as he had chained you down only minutes ago, you now had _him_ chained down in a way that neither of you had ever expected.

After gaining a little confidence, you went for his tie again, only to have your wrist caught in his iron grip.

“You know,” you commented, “if you wanted my hands out of the way, you could’ve kept me on that chair.”

The realization didn’t seem to bother him that much, and that made you feel a little nervous.

With a light shrug, Crowley replied, “And what makes you think I’ve put you in control already, love?”

That alone told you he wasn’t through with you yet.

As Crowley’s large, warm hands trapped yours against the hardwood of the altar, his mouth was on you again, going straight for your neck. Steadily, you felt the transition of his open-mouthed kisses on your throat, evolving from soft and harmless nibbles to harsher bites. The stinging sensation of his teeth went straight to your groin, which, incidentally, his straining erection was eager to meet. Even through his trousers, you felt it, the sturdy outline of his cock.

That was when you realized you’d reached the end of your rope when it came to his teasing. You wanted him. _Now._

You forced your wrists out of Crowley’s lax grip and immediately wrapped your arms around his neck as you kissed him, desperately, for a long time. When you ran out of breath, you merely took a moment to inhale before kissing him again with almost-rabid passion. All the while, your naked body was completely pressed against his tailored suit, with your legs looped tightly around his waist. It was becoming clear to the both of you that you refused to allow any space between your body and his.

Your sudden aggression must have awakened something fierce in him because Crowley responded with equal enthusiasm. With a deep, throaty chuckle, he grinned against your lips and kissed you back, briefly releasing his hold on you to undo his belt and the zipper of his trousers.

Emboldened, you were just about to reach down and feel his hard cock with your hand, eager to guide him into you. But it barely went past Crowley’s waist before he caught you again. He let out a short, frustrated growl as he trapped your wrists with one hand and rammed them in place above your head. The other hand went for your jaw, grasping it like a vice.

“What did I just say?” Crowley seethed. “Who’s in control here?”

His bare cock was now flush against you, pressed between the folds of your cunt. The slightest movement of his hips made you squirm.

You were entranced by Crowley’s sharp glare, all too aware of his hand drifting down from your chin to your throat. He was only one squeeze away from cutting your breath short, and rather than feel scared, you were _thrilled_ by the idea of being at his mercy. As much as you were hesitant to admit it, you trusted the King of Hell with your life.

“Keep in mind,” he continued, a little calmer now, “that I am the _only_ one capable of doing this to you.”

You gulped, your throat flexing against Crowley’s palm. “Don’t be so cocky.”

“Hm.” He gave you a confident grin. “Am I wrong?”

His hand roamed further down again, stroking the curve of your breast. The pad of his thumb teased your hardened nipple, and he seemed to gain satisfaction from the way you writhed beneath his touch. To make matters worse, you still felt the length of his cock, now slick with your wetness, slide against your pussy, with its head teasing your clit.

It seemed unfair to you that Crowley’s intention was to wheedle the answer out of you with his skilled fingers and even more skilled tongue. But regardless, he _was_ right about what he’d said. It didn’t take much for the demon (or anyone, for that matter) to guess at your infatuation for him, and as Crowley had mentioned, you could scarcely allow anyone else to touch, hold, and _taste_ you like this.

“No…” you answered honestly, albeit hesitantly. “You’re not wrong.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

With a pleased moan, Crowley leaned closer again, eager to taste the spot beneath your ear. You somehow knew that he was distracting you, but it grew increasingly difficult to enjoy this sort of distraction when his hand left your breast and traveled down, further down, below your navel. He no longer did it to tease you but to finally give you what you wanted.

You knew what he was about to do. You knew because you began to feel him breach your opening with surprising care. And he was thicker, _much_ thicker, than you’d expected.

The way he grunted in your ear as he slowly entered you contrasted with the long, soothing breaths you yourself took to relax. You whined against his shoulder, riding out the initial stretch. In turn, he ran his hand up and down your thigh in a calming motion, stopping only when he’d fully sheathed himself inside of you.

Then he withdrew with a slowness so deliberate, you could feel the distinct length of his hard cock, every inch of it, leave you.

He gave you no room to react because he had suddenly thrust back into you, rendering you breathless.

“ _Fuck!_ ” was the only thing you’d managed to utter before he repeated the motion again and again.

It was somewhere between speeding up his thrusts and prying your mouth open with his tongue that Crowley decided he was tired of holding onto your wrists while he fucked you. Like you, he wanted to feel every inch of you against him, so he snaked his arm around your waist and pulled your hips closer for a better angle. And it worked; he’d found that spot again in record time.

“There,” you panted against his lips. “Right there.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice, pet.” His voice was deep and haggard, and it sounded like sex to your ears. “I know my way in.”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you begged.

Reaching down, Crowley hooked his arm beneath the bend of your right leg and pulled it back as he rammed into you. Overwhelmed, you unwound your tired arms around his shoulders and collapsed against the surface of the altar. Only his arms supported you now, his grip on your writhing body careful but relentlessly tight.

He knew you were close, so close, because your hand came up to muffle the high-pitched moans that escaped through your lips. So he threw his usual guise of propriety out the window and picked up the pace, relishing your expression, your cries, your exhausted body being pulled tight before, eventually, snapping loose like a string. Soon, he followed, arching his whole frame towards you as he moaned deliciously into your neck.

With a pleased sigh, you slung your arm over your eyes and caught your breath. You couldn’t look at him, let alone spare him a glance. You were just so boneless, so _tired_ , that you felt like fainting on top of that altar. Forget the possibility of him leaving you there and waiting for the next random stranger to come in and see you unconscious and sated. You were content, and that was all that mattered.

A second later, you were stirred back to reality by Crowley pressing a kiss to your jaw, scratching your sensitive skin with his stubble. It didn’t take you long to realize that he hadn’t pulled out of you just yet, either because he didn’t want to or because he was as exhausted as you were.

_The King of Hell just broke a sweat_ , you thought with a little pride. _Because of me._

“Well, that was rather short-lived,” Crowley grumbled against your throat.

Unseen to him, you smiled. “M'not complaining.”

The way he pulled out of you left your body with a pleasing shudder. Strange how you felt both satisfied and empty at the same time.

As Crowley stepped away from you and righted himself, you knew better than to sit up immediately and do anything you would later regret. You saw no point in ambushing him because he, apart from being the only one who knew of your location, posed no serious threat to your life at the moment. At the same time, raising your own expectations after this encounter was the last thing on your mind. What did it say about you, the fact that you wanted something like this with him again?

Your wrists were limp atop your midriff, still throbbing from the tight chains that had constricted them earlier. You realized it was the kind of pain, the kind of senseless _ache_ , that you would gladly feel for no reason other than Crowley being the one who would and who _could_ inflict it all on you.

As long as he had a certain hold on you, as long as you were chained to him in a way that you both secretly relished, you would gladly do this over and over.

“Are you just going to lie there?” Crowley asked you from one end of the room. His question was laced with amusement and, if you weren’t mistaken, a certain smugness.

“Give me a minute,” you mumbled. Raising yourself on your elbows, you sat up on that altar and, upon seeing Crowley so neatly dressed before you, felt more than a little out of place. “By any chance, could I get my clothes back?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he teased. Still, with a little puppy-eyed begging on your part, Crowley relented and proceeded to drape his long coat over your bare shoulders.

Pulling the coat around yourself, you felt satisfied. Its soft lining tickled your skin, and the mingling scents of sulfur and cologne were glued to its collar. You were well-aware that Crowley’s hands were still on your shoulders, rubbing some warmth into your upper arms, while he stood between your legs. The temptation to pull him in and have a do-over of that session was incredibly difficult to stifle, but for propriety’s sake, you had to stamp it down. And it was getting late. You couldn’t see it, but you felt it in the weariness of your limbs.

“The boys will be looking for you soon,” Crowley informed you, to which you simply nodded.

“Yeah,” was all you could say. You didn’t wish to say anything else, not when it warranted the risk of having Crowley know how desperate you were for another round.

“We shouldn’t keep them waiting, then.” Crowley grinned. “Oh. And before I forget…”

He pulled up your sleeve and pressed his palm against the underside of your forearm. You felt something hot being etched into your skin, but it was more comforting than scalding. When he was done, he pulled down your sleeve again, covering whatever he had just marked on you.

“You can look at it later,” he offered with a wink.

“What is it?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“Call it a token,” he replied. “Something you’ll find quite useful, should you be interested in making more… _interesting_ bargains in the future.”

The look you gave him was a mixture of disbelief and hope. “You mean…”

“You really thought this would be the only time we’d meet like this?” He held your chin in one hand, tapping it with his thumb. “Again, you don’t know me very well, (y/n). Rest assured, I’ll be able to change that soon.”

After Crowley leaned down and kissed you with surprising gentleness, you heard him mutter one more thing before you blacked out completely.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, darling.”

* * *

“Hey, (y/n). Wake up. Come on.”

You opened your eyes and found yourself cradled in a pair of strong, familiar arms. It didn’t take long for you to recognize the owner of that voice.

“Sam?” you mumbled, hearing his sigh of relief. “What’s going on?”

“Looks like the rugaru knocked you out at some point,” Sam said, helping you sit up on the dusty warehouse floor. “It took us a while to find him, but he’s dead now.”

As you gathered your bearings, you realized that you were fully dressed and that, funnily enough, you sported a sore lump on your scalp from the rugaru’s blow, as if barely any time had passed while you were…

“Sammy!”

Dean walked in, taking in your appearance and finding nothing too peculiar. “You okay, (y/n)?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you replied, only feeling a little out of sorts.

“Now that we ganked the damn thing, the case is closed,” he informed you. “Come on, let’s head back.”

Dean took your hand and pulled you to your feet but not before pausing, as if he’d seen something totally out of place. His eyes went straight to your wrist.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him.

“Where the hell did these come from?” he wondered, referring to the imprints of chains on your wrist.

You froze.

“Erm…” You tried to come up with a quick lie. “Probably the rugaru. I don’t remember. It was all a blur.”

“Jeez, he got you here, too?” Dean said, his thumb rubbing the same imprints on the base of your neck. “Son of a bitch.”

“You sure you don’t remember anything, (y/n)?” Sam asked you, concerned.

“I’m sure,” you replied a little too quickly. “These’ll be gone in no time. I hope.”

The brothers gave you a final look of concern before eventually nodding in unison.

“Okay,” Sam said. “Let’s go. It’s gonna be a long drive.”

Dean and Sam led the way out of the warehouse as you trailed behind them, rubbing and soothing the imprints around your wrists. You made sure to keep a respectable distance when you recalled something being etched into your forearm.

Looking down, you peeled back the sleeve of your own jacket to reveal some bold scarlet lettering written on your skin.

It was a summoning spell.

_Et ad congregandum_

_Eos coram me_

You thought you heard the echo of a familiar laugh behind you, so you quickened your pace until you were out of that warehouse.

Even then, that did little to stop the chill of excitement that shot up your spine when you recalled his last words to you, which had been uttered into your lips.

_I’ll be seeing you soon, darling._

**Author's Note:**

> I had written this fic for a friend back in 2014, and only recently did I contemplate giving this story (and many others in the future) a new home in AO3 from my old dust-and-cobweb-covered Tumblr account.
> 
> Cecilie, wherever you are, I hope you're doing well.


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